The Prey by Tom Isbell Page B

no longer in their vocabulary.
    Then Faith asks, “Do you remember the boy? The one who stayed in our cave?”
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œWhere do you think he is?”
    â€œNo idea.” Far away from here is what she wants tosay. Not stuck in this godforsaken territory. But even as she thinks it, she has to hide her annoyance. What’s the point of wallowing in self-pity? It only brings heartache and sadness. Besides, it goes against everything their father taught them: If you want to change something, change it. Yesterday was yesterday; today is today.
    They are both quiet. From the woods comes the sound of a thousand croaking frogs. Then Faith says, in a voice that is barely a whisper, “Sometimes they come back alone. Without their sisters.”
    â€œI know, but it’s not going to happen to us.”
    â€œYou promise?”
    â€œPromise.”
    A sudden weariness descends on Hope. It’s tiring being the one in charge, the comforter, the provider. Even though she’s only twenty minutes older than Faith, it’s always been her role.
    â€œCome on,” she says. “We need to get to dinner.”
    Faith nods absently. They rise and make their way downstairs and out the door. For a mere instant, walking through the grass to the mess hall, Hope can almost forget where they are. She can almost trick herself into thinking they’re back in the house in the mountains: Mom making breakfast and teaching them their lessons, Dad telling stories by the fireplace, his rich bass voice inspiring laughter and wonder. Afterward, theirmother would play the out-of-tune piano in the parlor and teach them hymns.
    â€œCome, Thou Fount of every blessing
Tune my heart to sing Thy grace;
Streams of mercy, never ceasing,
Call for songs of loudest praise.”
    For a brief, transcendent moment, it is Hope and Faith returning to their home and adoring parents, hearing the strains of songs and laughter, far away from this strange, cruel place.
    But once they round a corner and see guard towers, the coils of razor wire and gun-toting Brown Shirts, the dream vanishes. This is their reality.
    Yesterday was yesterday; today is today.

19.
    â€œW E ’ RE PLANNING AN ESCAPE and want you to come with us,” June Bug said.
    We were standing in the latrine—all white tiles and dripping faucets, reeking of sour turds.
    Cat eyed us curiously in the mirror but said nothing. His bruises had faded from black and blue to green and yellow. Only slightly less gruesome. If he was surprised by June Bug’s words, he gave no indication. He continued to rinse his arm in the sink. The water dribbled past his wound and down the drain, tinged with blood red and pus yellow. “I’ll be long gone before you all finish tying your shoes,” he said.
    â€œWe’ll pull our own weight,” June Bug said.
    â€œI’ll take my chances.”
    â€œWhat if we paid you?”
    Cat actually laughed. He turned, his eyes roaming from one of us to the other. “With what?”
    â€œI don’t know. We’d think of something.”
    He gave his head a shake. “Not interested. I left the YO Camp to save myself—no one else. Period.”
    We were shocked. It was the first bit of history Cat had revealed about himself.
    â€œYou were a Young Officer?” June Bug asked.
    Cat nodded.
    â€œSo if things were so good there, why’d you leave?” Dozer said.
    Cat didn’t answer. He flicked off a piece of burned skin and flung it to the floor.
    â€œLook, we go through the Rite next spring,” June Bug said. “Which means if we don’t leave now, we never will. And if you don’t help us, I’m not sure we can reach the next territory on our own.”
    The dripping faucet was suddenly as loud as a cannon boom.
    â€œSorry,” Cat said. “Not interested.” He brushed past us and made for the door.
    Before he got there, Dozer blurted out,